


The White Room

by Nualie



Series: Gloomdritch [2]
Category: Gloomverse (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Execution, Gen, Immolation, Inverse (Gloomverse), Moral Dilemmas, as inspiration is taken from reality for the truly awful things characters may be capable of, if you are reminded of historical events that is not a coincidence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nualie/pseuds/Nualie
Summary: A child is asked for her judgement.Part of the Gloomdritch universe, but can be read as a standalone.
Series: Gloomdritch [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550101
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	The White Room

**Author's Note:**

> While you will not learn the context for quite some time in the main story... I felt like writing out this part. I'll probably do more short stories about the background of Gloomdritch version of the characters...  
> Enjoy(?)~

She is led into the white room, the circular halo of a gun barrel pressing against her back. 

It’s pristine here. Not a speck of dust or blood. The threat of violence is enough to keep people compliant, on the off chance that someone might be foolish enough to try running. 

There are two buttons in the white room, surrounded by a sheet of steel, and nothing else. 

No, wait. There is a pane of glass… a tinted glass window. It’s too dark to let her see faces, but she can see silhouettes, likely dressed exactly like she is— they are all prisoners. She knows they aren’t grimy anymore, everyone was washed on the way here. The muddy feet would have stained the floor of the execution chambers. 

They aren’t moving. They must be tied to chairs, just like she was in the previous room, strapped alone for a few minutes, until she heard screams and was untied. Led here. 

The pane of glass is seamless, but there is a perpendicular wall in the middle, dividing her vision between two rooms. On the right, she counts ten; on the left, she counts one. These seated people she can’t make out the features of— she can hardly tell if they are short or tall, adult or children. She thinks there must be some of both in either case. 

The room on the right reminds her of the lonely waiting room from before, but it was empty once she left, and there is someone now.

The guard’s free hand grasps at her thin shoulder, hard. It pushes her towards the room’s center— the panels with the buttons. They are identical, save for their position. 

She knows this is an execution. She is being given a choice. Is this a sick joke? 

“Welcome.” A voice almost startles her. Almost, because she is too stressed to feel more fear. She has become detached, like she’s floating, calm as her tight fists scream. 

The newcomer is dressed all in white; the only spot of value is their black hair, perfectly ordered, and their black-tinted goggles. “Please look at me,” they demand pleasantly. 

She does. She isn’t wearing glasses, but no color could hope to penetrate this place. They would be useless. 

“I am your examinator.” Executioner. “On your right, there are ten people who have been convicted of homicide. On your left, a single person, innocent of any grave crime.”

She listens. There isn’t a way to win. She is here because they want to be rid of her. She knows this. Why tell her this? Why give some kind of choice? 

They write something down on a small spiral notebook. “When you press a button,” the examiner continues, talking as if to a child (but isn’t she a child?), “a spark will be ignited in the corresponding room, immolating its occupants.”

The pen stills. “Pick a button.” Against her spine, the weapon strains, pushing her into a forward stumble.

Her mind races. Nothing is said about her release should she make a “correct” choice. Is this a creative way of getting rid of prisoners while gathering scientific data? That seems like the most likely possibility… no, this isn’t the time. She knows they’ll break her fingers if she takes too much time to choose. She sets aside _why why why_ for now. 

“Am I allowed to refuse?” she asks, throat raw, tongue dry.

“No.” At least the answer is simple. “Pick a button.” The tone bears a glimpse of emotion— boredom. “An innocent. Ten murderers. Which will you execute?”

She closes her eyes, presses the “right” button.

The room of murderers goes up in flames; there are no screams, their death instantaneous. The clothes they were given were fireproof, in order not to waste anything on them. Ten “bad people”, gone. The examiner nods. 

“Next,” they say. Formless assistants pick up the clothes once the room is safe for the living again, but she has no time to examine their indistinct shapes through the glass; she is pushed outside, a narrow corridor that splits in either direction. From her right, where she arrived from, she catches sight of another person. 

The innocent she saved just now. 

They are made to wait with their eyes to the wall, just like she did while the precedent occupant exited the room. It is cyclical. They do not see her. They will take her place in a second, because she was them a minute ago, spared by another soul, the “innocent” one.

She is pushed in the opposite direction. The corridor makes a right angle, and there are several doors. She is shoved through one and strapped to one of ten chairs. She waits. 

She opens her eyes again, hand hovering over the panel. A blink of thought has passed.

...what an unbearable way to die that would be.

A cycle. Spare an innocent; condemn ten murderers. Be the executioner. Bring justice.

Surely people are not interchangeable. She could ask for details of the crimes, but she knows she will be given none. This is not a test of intelligence, nor is it meant to be equitable. They could be anyone, from the worst to a messiah— it does not matter, because they have killed. They have snuffed out a human life. Murderers are worthless in the face of an innocent life, such is the order of society. 

Indeed, a simple ultimatum. Punish murderers, save the innocent. Be a gear in the engine of justice; be your own judgement. How much fairer could this be?

This is a convenient, well oiled machine. No innocent life is lost. All those who come through are life-takers. The only mercy is the fleeting conviction of having made the righteous choice, of remaining a “good person” to the end. A moral choice made by criminals, who are perhaps even redeemed at last, through being the victims of murderous automation. 

...she misses her sister.

The guiltless one she imagined… she thinks back to them. Short black hair. A little taller, a little older, doubtlessly kinder than she. They’re waiting in the other room for their turn to be saved, just like she owes her life to the one that came before her and chose justice. 

She presses the left button. 

She was wrong; there is a scream, though brief it is. It sounds younger than she would have hoped. The ten sinners flinch, surprised to be alive this turn. Ah, she had wondered if the test was rigged at all. It was not. 

“Unusual behavior.” The examiner’s tone doesn’t waver. “Disclose your reasoning.”

Kill ten people, or kill nine less. It’s very simple math. “I saved nine lives,” Ylil says. 


End file.
